Angels in the Mountain
by The Glider Girl
Summary: Van Helsing and Carl run into another adventure whilst returning from Romania. ON HIATUS! CURRENTLY UNDER REDUX!
1. One Ill Friar

**Note from teh G-girl:**

I'm in love with Carl. And David Wenham. So sue me.

Anyway, this is a fic that occurs during Van Helsing and Carl's return from Romania. They run into more magic, more adventures. . . and two girls, one a young woman and the other a young lady, (not a romance fic) and discover a secret burried deep in the Carpathians. This is also not a slash fic (which I do not write) and is not a Mary Sue. It is almost a "self-insertion" as one of the girl characters (whom you'll meet in later chapters) is loosely based on myself.

So, I hope you enjoy my first attempt at Van Helsing fiction. I'm worried that Van Helsing is not quite IC, but I also believe that underneath all his mysterious bravado, he really does care about Carl, if only because the poor friar is his only friend.

_Disclaimer: I own nothing! Much to my dismay!_

Enjoy:

**Angels in the Mountain**

Carl still couldn't believe they were lost, in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of Europe, in the middle of January. Snow and trees were everywhere, and it was the coldest experience he could ever remember having. Van Helsing, if he did mind the bitter mornings, sleeping in snow banks, and cold food (they could only light a fire when they could find fresh timber, which was hard, and even then it was always short-lived,) never showed it. His ever-unchanging nonchalant choice of words and blank face were always present.

_'Well, he may be an angel, but I'm a man, dammit! I can't keep going like this, it'll be the death of me.'_

Although in truth he felt that having lived through the whole incident with Dracula, he could take anything anyone anywhere cared to toss at him.

He didn't quite realize who wrong he was.

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"If we keep going . . . West we should eventually end up in Yugoslavia, from there to Croatia, and then to Italy. Easy as slaying a necromancer," Van Helsing muttered half to himself, half to Carl, who was trudging behind him, half asleep. The previous night's thunderstorm had more than caused for a restless night. Van Helsing noticed and almost smirked in amusement. _'Poor Carl,' _he thought to himself.

"Or, monk, I could leave you here to walk in circles as I sneak off and walk to Rome myself," he added quietly, wondering if the muttering would be noticed.

"What?" asked Carl, blinking as he slowly turned his head. Van Helsing would have frowned if he thought it worth the effort. Carl was always on the spot whenever Gabriel referred to him as anything other than "friar." Come to think of it, Carl had been rather quiet and closed of late, which was unusual, because normally the monk couldn't stop talking. Perhaps the ordeal with Dracula had been too much for him.

"Nothing."

"Oh. All right then . . . " Carl trailed off, slightly confused. One minute he was walking, or was he? He couldn't really remember. It seemed like for a few seconds, he had stopped existing. Everything just wasn't. He found that upon returning to the real world he had a terrible headache, making it hard to think. And here Van Helsing was probably trying to talk to him. Was it important? It might have been. It could have been about their current predicament, or perhaps he was just trying to make friendly conversation, which seemed unlikely. No, he didn't want to think about it. Thinking was turning out to be relatively painful.

After a short but tedious look about the landscape, Gabriel was able to determine that they were in fact going in circles, and that West was actually to their right. He quickly changed direction and began a quick marching pace. Carl had been rather pale when he'd looked, and it would probably be better for them both to spend the night in a decent bed. Out of the cold, the rain, and the snow –

"Snow?" he asked aloud, looking up. The little flakes were falling delicately yet abundantly from the sky. Yes, a real house with a real roof and a real fire was sounding rather ideal at this point.

What had at first appeared to be a slight and harmless snowfall had quickly transformed into a full-blown massive snowstorm. Both men had trudged for hours in the pouring sleet, heads bowed against it, the only thing they could think of being one foot in front of the other. Well, at least that was what Van Helsing was concentrating on.

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Carl couldn't see two inches in front of his nose, not that he felt like looking up. Everything was so cold, the wind driving against him from all four directions. His head was pounding horribly with the force of the gale, his entire body numb. Everything was swimming in and out of focus, and his throat felt warm and raw. Nothing seemed to have an up or down, and he was suddenly overwhelmed by an extreme sense of vertigo. The white snow that had been the ground was now suddenly a wall on his right. And everything was growing sort of misty, black around the edges.

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It was a good thing Van Helsing had turned to make sure Carl was still there when he did, or the poor friar might have been lost in the Romanian highlands forever. He had planned to try to shout above the gale to communicate his thoughts about finding shelter. But when he turned, there was no billowing abbey cloak; just empty space. His head tilted down to see the man lying in the snow, deathly still. He appeared to be only half conscious, at the most.

_'This day keeps getting worse and worse. My luck must be wearing thin.'_

He knelt down in the snow and slipped one arm under Carl's head, the other under his knees; it would have been easier to throw the monk over his back, but he couldn't risk him going into hypothermia; it was better to hold him close and pray to God that his body heat would be enough to warm the man. As he lifted himself up off the ground, taking Carl with him, the friar gave a small, week groan before blinking his eyes open.

"What?" he mumbled, teeth chattering.

"It's all right, Carl. I'm just going to find shelter. Don't try to talk," Gabriel muttered quickly, but Carl's eyes had already rolled back into his head, his body subconsciously trying to huddle against Van Helsing's, seeking warmth. To Gabriel, he almost looked like a small child, alone, frightened, and ill.

And with that last thought, Gabriel took off at a brisk run, towards a clump of trees, hoping to find a small overhang or _something_ that would allow him to light a fire and tend to Carl.

A small cave was all he asked, but a large one was twice as good. Ducking in through the entrance, Gabriel was pleased to find that it was quite deep, and headed all the way to the back, far away from the entrance and the howling winds. His satisfaction continued to find that it was much warmer in the cave than it had been outside. Gently placing Carl down with his back against a cave wall, he quickly unrolled one of the bed roles and added a blanket for comfort, before returning to his companion.

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Carl had felt the sudden rise in temperature. It was extremely nice, because he felt as if he'd never be warm again. He'd felt himself bumping along . . . was he floating? He didn't think it would be so jostling. He wanted to open his eyes, but they were pasted shut. The bumping stopped and he felt his body being set upright against a wall. The source of warmth that he'd felt but never really thought about left, and he tried to huddle in on himself, feeling deathly ill and not a little scared. Where was Van Helsing? Had he been kidnapped by wild mountain people? If his mind had been more lucid, the idea would have seemed ridiculous, but now, it didn't seem far from possible.

A shadow fell across his body, and he forced his eyelids to unstick. A figure was kneeling in front of him, with a wide cloak and funny looking hat. Everything was blurry.

"Carl?" it asked. The wild mountain people knew his name? How? He wanted to say something back, because the voice sounded a little comforting, deep and gentle, but when he tried he felt a considerable amount of pain at the dry wind rushing over his cracked throat.

"Don't talk. Can you hear me? Nod, or blink," the voice said, and it sounded a bit concerned. Was something wrong? He nodded, or, again, tried to. His head slumped forward as he closed his eyes and he didn't have the energy to bring it up again.

A warm hand (oh, bless this wild mountain person!) was pressed against his cold cheek. It felt so soothing and so wonderful and he felt so sick and so terrified that for all his dignity (or what was left of it) he couldn't stop the little pools of salt that trickled out from underneath his eyelids.

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"Oh, Carl," Van Helsing muttered, watching the tears drip silently to the dirt floor. He felt bad for the poor monk, he truly did. He took the man's face in his hands and tilted it up towards him. He was flushed, and his skin felt like it was on fire. He waited for the blonde man to open his eyes again, which eventually he did, staring at the angel with a bleariness that suggested he wasn't quite all there. He opened his mouth to try to communicate some incoherent thought, but ended up whimpering in pain, and turning his head away, eyes closed tight against the little light coming from the fire Van Helsing had managed to ignite.

Van Helsing watched him for a minute. Carl looked as vulnerable as a child, utterly miserable with his current condition. It took him a moment to notice Carl's shivering body, and the dripping wet garb of an abbey monk. He cursed himself silently, and went to the packs to fetch a new robe for his friend.

He rummaged through Carl's pack in despair. How like the absentminded friar to pack parchment and pen, but not more than one other change of cloths! Van Helsing was not a vain man; but he did know the importance of clothing, and that sometimes you had to bring extra along with you, in case of bloodstains and under cover work. So he went through his own things and managed to dig up a shirt and some trousers that looked as if they would not be too big for the thin man. He also found a large poncho traded to him while spending time in the southern part of America, hunting a chupacabra. He then proceeded back to Carl, who had not moved.

Van Helsing carefully began to strip him of his sackcloth robe, until he was down to nothing but his undergarments. These too, however, were soaked, and would have to be removed. As Van Helsing (much to his disgrace) went about his task, he noticed how unbearably skinny his comrade was. He supposed under the bulk of his robe (and much of that bulk was weaponry and various devises concealed by the brown fabric) even an observant onlooker would be able to turn a blind eye to Carl's thinness. And there were five deep scars running down the length of his back, crossing diagonally in what looked to be a pattern, long since closed but forever visible. Van Helsing briefly wondered what sort of life Carl could have led prior to The Left Hand of God.

He draped the large cotton t-shirt over the man's slim shoulders quickly, and then pulled the trousers on, slipping Carl's boots back on over them, and then the heavy coat to top it all off. He watched Carl shiver for a moment. He then pulled the poor man into his lap, rubbing the monk's arms to get the warmth circulating back into them. He felt Carl's shivering grow more violent, but he did not cease, rubbing now his back and enfolding him in his arms. Eventually, the man quieted, breathing deeply and evenly in a fitful slumber, such as it was. Van Helsing watched the blonde man, with his long pale face and grim mouth, his figure limp in the angel's arms. He felt almost like an older brother, trying to protect his little brother from some unknown evil that he could not help him fight. He propped Carl's head against his shoulder and prepared to wait out the night.


	2. One Young Rescuer

**Note from teh G-girl:**

Yo! How's everybody doing? I just thought I'd add a chapter, keep ya'lls happy . . .

Anyway, in this chapter we get to introduce (omg! gasp!) a brand spankin' new, shiny, fresh off the conveyer belt, Original Character. I would like at this time to take the opportunity to just say this: She is _not_ a mary sue. I'm not particularly fond of mary sues, as they tend to be poorly written and the characters all knowing, all-powerful, and all annoying. So, for you're benefit, let me repeat once more: She is _not_ a mary sue.

Also, I realize this chapter is somewhat short, but I'm hoping the next one won't be. I'm trying to find a good spot to cut off each chapter, and in doing so I seem to be dribbling it out to you guys. Oh well, beggars can't be choosers, so I guess that means ya'll are at my mercy! Muhahaha!

Yes, but I'm a kind and merciful person, so expect updates once every other week (because I'm writing two stories right now: speaking of which, any X-Men fans might want to hop on over to my A Friend for Kurt story, check it out, see if you like it), except in case of severe writers block.

And to conclude, I'd like to say _thank you, all reviewers!_ You guys really make it all worthwhile!

Also, any questions that might arise because of this chapter: I'm not a homophobe, and I'm not a slash writer; I do not advocate that lifestyle so I see no point in writing about something I really don't approve of. And personally, Van Helsing doesn't strike me as a homosexual. Seriously. I mean, he fell in love with Anna in the movie, for goodness sake! Carl is a dear, _dear_ friend (the only one he has, really) and as he is a monk (well, friar) he has taken a life of pious abstinence, and blah blah blah. So don't flame me for any underlying subliminal messages. I just write what I think advances the character.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. So sue me!

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Liriel was used to the snow. She'd been born to it, grown up around it; she lived in it every single day. But she had to admit; this was one of the worst snowstorms she had ever seen. And she had seen quite a few. 

She knew she would not make it to the house. It was already late, and the cave was not far away. She would have to camp there for the night.

As she worked her way through the wood, she kept a careful eye out for the sycamore that marked the entrance. It was an odd tree, old, over grown, and standing right at the mouth of the rock shelter. She had spent many a night there during a downpour of sleet. From there it was a three-hour journey to her family's shack in good weather.

As she shook off the snow and stamped her feet upon the ground, she smelled the air. There was a fire going, to be sure; and one nearby.

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Van Helsing felt the vibration traveling through the ground, his keen senses picking up the noise of leather against the earth. Someone was entering the cave. There was little he could do, holding the ill friar, and his weaponry was on the other side of the cavern, next to the fire. He weighed his options, none of which were appealing. If Carl were awake, he would tell him it was one of those times when you could simply do nothing but trust in God. So he stayed were he was and watched the dark walls with narrowed eyes. 

Presently, a young girl of perhaps seventeen with light brown hair and dark green eyes entered, holding a lantern over her head to guide her path. She wore an old, gray coat that was patched in several places, with big heavy boots and snowshoes underneath them. There was a red knit scarf around her neck, covering her mouth and half her nose, which she held in place with one gloved hand. There were three rabbits, two rifles, and a brown leather satchel slung across her back. She stood there for a minute, staring at the dark haired, hazel-eyed man in front of her, and he stared back. Her eyes only shifted to Carl's unmoving form once, and the tenseness in her eyes immediately seemed to relax.

"Who are you?" she asked, her Romanian accent drifting through the cloth fabric.

"My name is Gabriel Van Helsing," he answered.

"I do not wish to appear rude, Mr. Van Helsing, but what, might I ask, are you and your lover doing in my cave?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

If Van Helsing were capable of blushing, he most certainly would have. He was mortified enough as it was.

"This is my companion, and he is dreadfully ill. I believe he has also contracted hypothermia, and I have no desire for him to go into shock," he growled back, wishing this young woman were a man, for all the wrong reasons.

"I realize that. Forgive my audacity. My name is Liriel Verialla. I use this cave quite often when I seek shelter from storms. I did not expect to find . . . visitors."

As she spoke, she began to remove her scarf, plunking the rabbits down next to it along with the satchel and snowshoes. She kept her guns, however, as she moved closer to inspect the strangers.

"May I?" she asked, her boldness obviously not diminished in the least. She was speaking of Carl, and had removed her gloves as she knelt in front of the two men.

"You do not need my permission," Van Helsing muttered, and the young lady gently placed her long fingers across Carl's forehead, gauging the temperature that was most certainly evident. The monk moaned and twisted beneath them, opening his eyes. Van Helsing could tell from the distant and glazed look that he was not awake, not really.

"How long has he been this way?" she asked, pulling the poncho down and parting the shirt at it's neck, revealing a red rash as she pressed her thumbs against Carl's chest.

"Little over two hours," Van Helsing responded.

"And what are his symptoms? Has he complained of a dry throat? Of dizziness, or headaches?" she asked, and Van Helsing felt as if he had landed himself in an examination room with a sick child.

"Who . . .?" Carl tried to ask, looking at the brown haired girl with great confusion.

"My name is Liriel. Can you hear me?" she asked gently, placing a hand upon his cheek, and whispering in a tender voice. Carl nodded, his eyes jittering across her face.

"What ails you?" she asked, gently trying to keep his focus on her.

"Hurts," he muttered, gesturing to his throat.

"How badly?"

"Badly," Carl croaked, lifting a hand to his head as well.

"Your head, it aches too?" she asked, the patience in her voice a bit startling after her shortness with the demon hunter.

"Yes."

"Very well. Please, try to return to your sleep; I will help your friend attend your wounds," she said, calmly sliding her hands over his eyes. Carl seemed to try to protest for a moment, but, as if by magic, he found himself slipping into darkness once more, an all together overwhelming tug beckoning him back into slumber. Van Helsing watched the young woman as her hands worked some unseen enchantment upon the friar. Was it his imagination, or were her eyes . . . glowing?

She removed her hand.

"He should sleep soundly. For a while, at least," she added, and Van Helsing felt Carl's breathing eased, and he did not shift so uneasily as he had beforehand.

"My home, it is a few hours away from here. But we should try to take him there. It is warmer, and there will be medical supplies. I can only do so much for your friend. My knowledge of healing is limited," she said, looking Van Helsing in the eye. There was something mysterious lurking behind those green orbs. A deep secret, rooted there from ancient centuries past.

She stood and strode across the room, extinguishing the fire and gathering Van Helsing and Carl's things along with her own.

"I shall carry your packs, and you your friend. I will lead the way," she spoke softly, tucking her scarf back into place and slinging the packages over her shoulders. "Be careful to not loose sight of me. The storm still rages, and while it makes it harder to travel, it will guard us from unwanted eyes," she added, turning back to look at the dark haired man.

Van Helsing stood and gathered Carl into his arms. The burden was light, Carl had not eaten much in the past few days, and the girl, Liriel, carried their bags.

"Lead on," he said, gesturing towards the mouth of the cave.


	3. Plus Two Elderly Veriallas

**Note from teh G-girl:**

I'm terribly sorry for such a late update. Usually I update on the weekends, but a few weekends ago, my beloved piano teacher of five years passed, and it wasrather devistating. So, by way of apology, I've decided to combine what I had initally planned as chapters 3 and 4, now just chapter 3. Anyway, I hope everyone enjoys my new characters (I know I do).

So, without further ado, I present Chapter 3 - Read on, valiant soldier!

**edit:** disclaimer: I own nothing, but I love to torment. Muahaha!

Van Helsing's eyesight was quite keen, but even so he had trouble keeping up with the fast moving young woman. There were times when all he could do was focus on the little light emitting from the candle in her lantern, which she held stiffly above her head, unceasing. She scuttled about the snow, jumping from one point to the next, only stopping when she was not sure if she could here the angel's footsteps. Carl slept all the while, wrapped in  
numerous blankets and completely invisible.

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Liriel saw the dark wooden structure against the pale white snow and the dark blue sky, the golden light flickering from within, and the smoke emitting from the chimneystack. She stopped and waited as Van Helsing came up beside her.

"My home," she said, pointing to the small hut. Van Helsing nodded, and followed her up the hill, trying not to sink too deeply into the mound of snow.

As they came up to the front door, Van Helsing looked around. There was a barn not far off, and a stack of wood reaching the roof against the opposite side of the house. Liriel pulled off her snowshoes and tied them along with her riffles to the post where rested another pair of guns, a hoe, an axe, and three long sticks.

Liriel quickly knocked on the door, three times, loudly. They waited.

A round, brown head with graying hairs and dark brown eyes popped out from behind the door, and immediately flung it open, with a cry. A round, middle-aged woman wearing a dark gray dress and an apron threw her arms around Liriel with fervor, crying out in joy, "Auch, my dear!" Liriel held the woman for a moment, before stepping back and allowing the woman to usher in her daughter and the two men. As they entered, Van Helsing gazed about the room. It was small, homely, with brown walls and a large stone hearth on the left wall, two rocking chairs and a small couch sitting in front of it. There was a large wooden table behind these, covered in an embroidered table cloth, and there were various tools hanging from the walls, as well as paintings of portraits and fields of lush green, with wildflowers spilling all over the place. In the center of the tablecloth was a large green vase filled with a few dying roses. He felt a warmth slip into his bones, and he was not sure whether this was from the hearth or the feeling of happiness that shrouded the place.

"Mama, this is Gabriel Van Helsing. His friend is very ill, with the fever, I believe," Liriel said, as the woman took the rabbits and the satchel to another room. Liriel removed her scarf and coat, revealing a forest green dress beneath it, which seemed only to accent her startling eyes.

"Oh, dear. Has he the rash?" she asked, returning with a tall man who had gray hair and a gray beard, with dark green eyes almost identical to his daughters; they lacked the same aura of mystery that Liriel's were covered in. He wore a shirt and vest, with dark brown breeches and boots. He was long and slim, and Van Helsing was mildly surprised to find himself looking up at the elderly man.

"Yes. I believe my bedroom shall suffice for him and Mr. Van Helsing, do you not?" she asked, touching the angel on his shoulder and leading him to the hallway attached to the wall behind the table. He followed her as she selected the last door on the right. Inside there were two small beds, one covered in with a quilt and feather pillow, and between them a table with a lamp. There was a small desk against the wall behind the door. Other than that, the room was quite bare.

Van Helsing gently placed Carl down on the bed against the right wall. Mrs. Verialla brought behind her a tin tub filled with warm water, several towels, and a few bottles filled with what Van Helsing could only suppose were an assortment of healing herbs.

"Shoo, my dear. I shall see to your friend. What is his name?" she asked, patiently ushering the angel out of the room along with her daughter.

"Carl. His name is Carl," Van Helsing said over his shoulder. Liriel lead him back down the hall to the kitchen, in the center of which stood another table, without a cloth, and three wooden chairs. Her father followed behind her.

"Mr. Van Helsing," he started, holding out his hand, "My name is Cyprian Verialla, and my wife's name is Tereza. You have already met our daughter, Liriel. Come. You are soaked. I shall find new clothes for you," he said, and turned. Van Helsing followed him, as Liriel set about the dishes.

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Carl wasn't quite sure if he was dreaming. He felt a cold hand on his cheek, and then warm water bathing his face and chest. He must have been on fire, for he the burning sensation that clouded his skin and mind was very sharp and tingly. He felt a hand beneath his head, and a cup pressed to his lips. He proceeded to drink what he was offered, but it tasted foul, and he gagged, not wanting to swallow, but someone pinched his nose, forcing the vile concoction down his throat. He swallowed, his throat cracking in two, and he whimpered. 

He was alone again. The person who had left him soaking wet (although it felt quite nice,) was gone. He was lying beneath a smooth blanket, his head on a pillow. Where they back at the Vatican? It felt nice to be lying in a bed again.

Something scrapped against the floor. He opened his eyes, and saw a light and what might have been another bed across the room. His eyes strayed to the figure rising up from the floor. It had blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes, and a very round face. A girl, it appeared to be. She wore a light, starch white shirt and brown leggings, a bow and quiver filled with arrows on her back. Her hair was short, almost, coming only to her shoulders in unkempt ringlets, at the very ends. Her eyes looked very old, and very sad. They held all the wisdom and pain in the world. A light smile crossed her face. Carl found his hand reaching towards her, and she let her little fingers reach out to touch his at the halfway point. Carl felt a cold spark travel down his arm and across his body, and he shuddered, pulling his hand back unconsciously. The girl stepped towards the bed, and sat down beside him. He pressed his face against the pillow, turning on his side, rubbing his forearms. The girl pulled the blanket up over his shoulders where it had slipped. She then stroked his hair, calmly, softly, and gently. Back and forth, in soothing, almost hypnotic pattern. Carl felt his eyes close. There was a calming feeling spreading from this girl's fingertips. He felt such stillness, such a peace that he had never known. He hoped she wouldn't leave.

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Van Helsing sighed at his new garments. He now sported black trousers, a dark brown shirt, and a small jacket over that. He had removed his hat and placed it on the rack along with Liriel's scarf and coat. Tereza had taken his clothing to some unknown room to be washed and dried. 

He found Liriel sitting at the table in the kitchen, but she stood when he entered the room.

"You must be tired. Come, you shall share the room with your friend, Carl," she said, leading him to the room where Carl was staying.

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The girl heard the voices carrying down the hall. She quietly slid from the bed and crawled back under it, her stomach against the floor, her head turned sideways to peer under the bed coverings at the two pairs of feet that entered. There were Liriel's, her soft brown boots, and then a harder, more sturdy pair, and from the man's mouth came a deep, low voice. 

"Thank you, for your kindness. I'm sure if Carl were awake, he would be thanking you as well."  
"It is no trouble," came Liriel's soft voice, and the girl wanted to jump from her hiding place and run to the dark haired girl, "we are happy to help. Come, you need rest. I shall see you in the morning. Good night, Mr. Van Helsing," she ended.

"Just Van Helsing, Ms. Verialla," he muttered after her.

"And just Liriel, thank you," she called, shutting the door. The boots stood at the edge of the bed, no doubt leaning over to examine the blonde man. She waited, hardly breathing. The man turned and lay down in the opposite bed, rolling over against the wall from the sound of the creaking mattress. The light was left on.

She waited.


	4. And a Little Mystery

**Note from teh G-girl:**

OMG! Update!... _hurk!_... >promptly keels over from shock>

Note to all reviewers: Thankx!

Disclaimer: I own nothing, but I like to torment! Muahaha!

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Van Helsing knew that there was something (or someone) still in the room with them. He didn't know how or when it had snuck in, but it was there. Hiding, in an unseen spot that he could not determine. He looked at Carl, who seemed much more . . . relaxed than he had when Van Helsing had left the room. More magic, perhaps? 

He turned to the other bed, not bothering to remove his boots, and settled himself on top of the covers. He lay there looking at the ceiling for a minute, and then he rolled over to face the wall, where the other presence would not be able to tell whether or not he was awake. He tried to calm his mind, slow his breathing to the natural indication of sleep. He felt his mind slowly slipping into a deep meditation, one that he could be quickly roused from if he so desired.

He had only to wait for a few hours.

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The girl waited until she was certain that the other man had fallen asleep, or at least certain enough that she would not be heard and caught. She carefully, slowly slid out from under the bed, and stood. The other man had his back to her, a very broad back with dark hair. She turned to the ill one. She once again sat down next to him, her weight sinking into the mattress, making it creak. She continued her earlier routine of calmly and slowly stroking the blonde man's hair, carefully and evenly, trying not to disturb him. When his breathing eased, and his fever dissipated, she stopped, satisfied. She lay down next to him, on the bed, curling herself into a small ball atop the covers, resting her head just beneath his chin. The man muttered something and a hand sneaked out from underneath the blanket, wrapping around her waist and pulling her close. She snuggled deeper against the warm body, her eyes closing.

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Van Helsing hadn't meant to fall asleep, but he woke abruptly once he realized he had. He was lying on his back and he sat up quite suddenly, causing little pools of color to dance before his eyes. He shook his head to clear them, and then his gazed drifted over to Carl's bed. There was a young blonde girl of perhaps fifteen curled up against Carl, and he had an arm around her, his chin resting upon her head. He was awake. And staring at Van Helsing.

"Carl?" he asked warily. Carl shushed him, glancing at the girl. Van Helsing climbed out of the bed, and walked across the room, bending down to pick the girl up. Once he had her cradled in his arms, he gently laid her down on his bed, tucking the cover up to her chin. He then went back and sat down next to Carl, who was sitting up and rubbing his head.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Better. Weak, but better. What happened?" the friar asked, squinting at the dark haired man in the dim light.

"You fell sick. I brought you to a cave, and someone found us there. I carried you back to her hut, were we are now. It was pretty bad there for a while, Carl," he ended, mildly puzzled at this sudden, almost . . . magical recovery.

"I know. I know I was dreadfully sick. But I remember –" he stopped, straining his mind to try to recall what had happened earlier, "I remember that she was there," he pointed at the girl, "and she was stroking my hair. And then . . . I felt better."

Van Helsing looked at the girl across the room. She appeared dead tired, with her mouth slightly open and her hand clutching the pillow. Carl yawned.

"Well, it's the early hours of the morning. You should try to get some sleep," Van Helsing said, and Carl rolled his eyes, but obediently lay back down on the pillow. Van Helsing slid to the floor and leaned back against the bed. He didn't want to return to sleep. There had been . . . nightmares. Not the same ones, not the ones he was used to, and could shrug off with not but a glance. There were new ones. About . . . about Anna

"You should go to bed as well," Carl's sleepy voice drifted across the sheets.

"I will," Van Helsing said, not sure entirely sure if he would.

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Questions? Comments? Leave a review! 


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